Her fatherhadbeen poisoned.
By whom? It had to be either someone who sought to claim the seal of Marnis – in which case, Amaury might be right that she might be killed next – or someone who held a grudge against her father. Faydide had been furious with him for his decision to put her aside. Mallory might have believed that his own influence would fade in his sister’s absence. Amaury or one of his brothers could have taken her father’s life in retaliation for the death of their own father. She could not imagine that the party from Haniers were involved: they had been disappointed but not to the extent of engaging in such violence.
Who had had an opportunity to poison the swan or its sauce? She would ask Simon. Had the same person killed Denis? If so, she imagined the villain might be a man, given the extent of Denis’ wound. Her thoughts returned repeatedly to Mallory, though she could not fathom how he would claim Marnis, even now that her father was dead.
If Faydide wished to wed again and claim Marnis as her own, she would have to be rid of the only person with a blood claim.
Isabella would definitely use the stone, as Amaury had advised.
She feared that her discomfiture showed when she left the chapel. She found Mallory at her elbow and Faydide fast against her other side.
“You look tired,” Faydide said sweetly. “But then, I suppose you did not sleep well.”
“I slept well enough,” Isabella lied. “Until people began to knock on the portal.”
“It has been a trying few days,” Mallory said.
“A cup of wine will restore the lady,” Raymond said, bowing his head to her with courtesy. He, his brother, his sister – and the dog – fell into step behind Isabella and her companions. She was escorted by this group as if they guarded her, and it was curious indeed to be the focus of so much attention.
At the board, there was bread and honey, wine and some stew reheated from the day before. She was guided to the great chair, the one that had fallen beneath her father, and she strove to hide her distaste. Someone offered her a chalice of wine, such a fine vessel that she was startled anew.
How could she get the stone into the wine before so many witnesses? They were all watching her, apparently concerned for her welfare. Was one of them planning to watch her die?
“What is wrong with Felix?” she asked, indicating the dog and all gazes turned to that animal.
“Naught. He is well, as ever,” Marguerite said.
“Are you certain? I thought he was limping,” Isabella said.
Marguerite immediately set down the creature, encouraging it to walk a few steps, and Isabella slipped the stone into the cup of wine as everyone turned their attention upon the dog. The stone had been green again, but she watched as it once more turned deepest black.
She was to be next.
“A toast to the new Lady de Marnis,” one of the men said, though Isabella was too startled to be certain which of them spoke.
“A toast!” Faydide repeated.
“I thank you,” Isabella said, then deliberately knocked over her chalice of wine. “Oh! I am so clumsy.”
“But what is that?” Faydide demanded. “It looks like an egg.”
“Perhaps the cup tipped of its own accord with such a weight within it,” Isabella said, and claimed the stone in one hand.
“What is it?” Mallory asked, leaning closer, but Isabella slipped the stone under her skirts and into the top of her boot.
“I do not know what it was,” she said.
“You have it in your hand.”
“Not I. I dropped it.” Isabella opened her empty hand and Mallory frowned.
“Most curious,” he said, his eyes narrowed as he studied her.
“Simon, the lady has need of another cup of wine,” Antoine said, as if he ruled the keep in which he stood.
“There is no need, Simon. I find I have no taste for it on this morning.” Isabella lifted a hand to her eyes. “It was so difficult to see Father thus.”
Mallory looked away, clearly doubting her response, but Raymond appeared at her side to offer his condolences and services.
